


Adjustment Period

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Human AU, Humanized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to my current on going story "Summer Days" featuring more of Drift and Jessy. This is a look at their life before the events of "Summer Days" as I imagined it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjustment Period

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, this started out as a venting piece but turned into fluff. So if the tone changes a little bit, that's why. And, uh, it's kinda short. Short but sweet. Emphasis on sweet.

He’s tired. Exhausted, even. His hands are shaking, knuckles sore, and his muscles are aching all over. He’s bone weary, and as he collapses into the metal folding chair beside him, he can undeniably say that he feels much, _much_ better.

Boxing always helped to clear his head. It was an Americanized sport, to be sure, but it was a helpful way to get out his aggressions. Mediation only went so far unfortunately.

The bandages wrapping his knuckles are dirty, but he leaves them on as he leaves the gym, stepping into the cold winter’s night. He gets into his car and drives away, drinking water as he makes it back to his apartment. He takes the elevator in silence, rising to the 8th floor, and then stalks down the hall.

There’s only one key on his key ring, and he uses it to open his apartment door.

Inside is sparse with decorations, just as he liked it – but there were signs of living. Dirty cups and dishes sitting in the sink. Scattered folders and papers on the island. The basket of clean laundry sitting in the doorway of the laundry closet, for lack of a better term.

He walks in, going straight to his bedroom, dropping the duffel bag on his bed. And he sits, and puts his head in his hands, trying to breathe.

He’s frustrated, and grabs ahold of the one loose end of his bandages with his teeth, undoing the wrapping roughly. He could accept the offer. It’s not something he believes in, but he definitely could. And it would be an easy three grand, something to offset the cost of bills for a little while, and give him a better chance to get his business off the ground.

He’d had no idea that xenophobia was so alive and well – but he should have expected as such from the news stories. He gets up, one hand now unwrapping the other one, a pile of dirty bandages on the small bedside table. Walking across the apartment, he slowly opens the door to the other bedroom.

His son lay in the middle of the bed, hair splayed across the pillow, fast asleep. He was much slimmer than his father, having a gentleness in his features that mirrored those of his mother. The key difference, the man thought, was their hearts.

The young boy sleeping in front of him was a much better person than his mother could have ever hoped to be. Ever _had_ been.

He turns, closing the door gently behind him, and walking back into the kitchen, where he gets himself a glass of water. With his heartrate lower, and body slowly recovering, he flipped through the pages of homework on the table.

His son’s English was better than his own. The younger generations learned it more consistently at school, he thought wistfully. It was a good advantage to have for the world, rapidly switching over to English for more communications worldwide, but he couldn’t help but wonder if learning English would eclipse his child’s memories of home.

They’d been in America for a little over a year, now. Did he fear the Westernizing of his son? A little, yes. But did he trust in his son’s judgement and ability to meld between both cultures? Yes, he did.

As always, the math homework looked correct – calculus never had come easy to him, but his son did just fine – and the physics seemed complete as well.

Packing up the folders, he finds a post-it note stuck to the counter beneath the pile of work. In Japanese characters, it reads:

“ _Dad,_

_I hope the gym helped. I’m sorry things have been a little rougher than we had anticipated coming here. I also wanted to let you know that I got a note from a teacher today – my marks in math could give me an award at the end of the school year. With a check as a prize. It’ll be okay, Dad. We can do this together._

_Love,  
Jessy._

_P.S. I got elected treasurer of my school’s GSA, so I’ll be coming home a little later from now on. About an hour later. I’ll have my phone on me, though, just in case anything happens. XOXO_ ”

Drift reads and re-reads the note, before looking back at his son’s closed bedroom door. His automatic reaction was to tell Jessy not to worry about it, and that he should be focused only on his grades. A bit of shame built up that Jessy had been able to tell the issues they were facing, if Drift couldn’t find a place that would give him the lease to start his own gym.

It’s frustrating, but as he reads it once more, he finds that it’s not Jessy putting salt in the wounds of his shortcomings – it’s his son offering assistance, in the only way he can. He’s focusing on his grades, and, in the process, helping them along as much as he can.

He’s just doing what he’s always done – try to make Drift proud.

* * *

The next morning, when Jessy makes himself breakfast, he finds another note left behind for him on the counter, atop of his own he’d left for his dad the previous night. Curious, he stops his looking for lunch, and reads over it.

“ _Dear Jessy,_

_I forget how perceptive you can be. Yes, it helped, and I have another meeting with the realtor today. I’ll be home around 3pm. Congratulations on your election, Jeshii. I’m so proud of you. Community involvement is key, even if you only have one more year here, before university._

_Thank you, as well, for keeping me informed of your grades. I know it’s been…an adjustment, moving here. I’m glad that you are excelling in something that is so very important at this point. With regards to your potential prize…it would be wonderful to see you win. But don’t do it just for the money; please do it for the_ right _reasons. As much as it pains me to know that you know, I’d be a fool to not accept your help._

_But please don’t think of it as an obligation, Jeshii. You are a child, my child; you shouldn’t worry about this._

_I hope you have a good day at school, and I will see you at 4:15._

_Much love,  
Dad_

_P.S. I made you some lunch, it’s already in the fridge. XO”_

Jessy smiled as he found the bento box sitting beside the milk and water gallons in the fridge. Putting it in a plastic bag, and then sliding that into his backpack, he quickly wrote one more note, putting it atop his dad’s, and then left, locking the door behind him.

* * *

“ _Dad,_

_Thanks. I hope your meeting goes well. I’ll see you after school._

_Much, much love,  
Jessy_

_P.S. Anything that helps us is no chore. Don’t worry about me worrying – I’m doing this because I love you. XOXO_ ”


End file.
